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"Dear John,
Hello from the Cape! How are you doing these days, my friend? I'm basically sitting on my old man's ass enjoying the life I can now have because of what happened to us last month in Laos. Even as I sit here scribbling this postcard off to you, I can't believe what we did and got away with doing over there.
Matter of fact, The Cape Cod Times barely made any mention of the attack on Gen. Xiang's camp; most Americans can't even find Laos on the damn map, anyways! Of course, I've kept real quiet about it and nobody here knows much about my part in it--the only giveaway I show is the brand new Jaguar convertible I bought last week! Well, John, I'm running out of room so I'll sign off but I hope everything is going well for you now in Thailand. Cheers! Glenn"
John Harwich smiled as he put the postcard down on his bureau that also worked as a desk for him in his apartment at Viraporn Court. The front of the postcard had given him a good laugh to start the day off with: a color picture of a dog romping through a cranberry bog on Cape Cod. Cape Cod, the arm-shaped peninsula surrounded by the Atlantic, was part of Massachusetts, southeast of Boston. It was also where Harwich had been born, raised and lived most of his life until his friend Glenn Lucas had been instrumental in getting him to return to Southeast Asia.
Glenn's message on the other side had made Harwich even happier. It stated why Harwich was where he was now without saying a damned thing at all; Asian-style at its best.
Harwich smiled at himself in the mirror attached to the bureau. He was bordering fifty but did not one bit look it in the mirror--a little over 5' 7", brown hair that continued to resist going gray, teeth that were original and in good shape, no wrinkles, blue eyes that the Thai bargirls enjoyed and no fat on him whatsoever. His body was in excellent shape in spite of his age and his recent misadventures in Laos had proved that all the way.
In his youth, in the early '70s, Harwich had first been in this part of the world doing a tour of duty with the US Army's Special Forces, 5th Group.
It had been shaky and dangerous in the beginning but he'd survived and taken to the area so well that he'd ended up working for the CIA in Special Operations Group doing tours in Laos and Cambodia as the United States pulled out of Indochina. "Vietnamization", as Nixon called it, was underway at the same time as Harwich's tours.
He'd been attached to the 46th Group based out of Camp Narai in Lopburi, Thailand and had done enough time there teaching Royal Thai Army Special Forces and other military/police outfits how to perform covert ops. More than one mission took him back into Laos and Cambodia. While in Thailand, he got over all the insanity he'd seen and participated in on duty in Indochina.
He learned to speak Thai even better than his Lao, Khmer, Vietnamese and H'mong. He spent time off-duty studying Buddhism at local wats. He learned to love Singha beer and Mekhong whiskey. The spicy tastes of Thai food pleased his stomach. Like most single, young servicemen in the kingdom, he had great sex and fell in love with more than one Thai girl.
After the fall of Saigon in '75, Harwich was finished with combat work in Southeast Asia and despite the pleas from his fellow americans and the locals to become an expat, he'd returned to the States.
Once there, his life was a so-so, every day world until last month, May. In just one day, his dog was put to sleep, he got fired from his job as a restaurant day manager and broke up with his girlfriend. And then he'd gotten the odd, long-distance phone call from Glenn all the way over in Bangkok, Thailand. His old home...
Glenn Lucas was a WW II vet Harwich had met ten years earlier at the local VFW. Like Harwich, Glenn had done his time in Asia. He'd been a Flying Tiger during the war and a pilot for CAT afterwards until Mao took over China in 1949. The two of them had gotten along well after comparing war stories in the Far East.
Now Glenn had wanted Harwich to return to Bangkok. He said he really wasn't in a position to tell Harwich why he wanted him back but told him a ticket on Thai Airways International and a room at the Oriental Hotel were both available to him if he'd be good enough to help Glenn out.
The mixture was enough for Harwich--his dog was dead, his job was history and he was single again plus, here was Glenn offering him a flight to Bangkok to stay at the world's greatest hotel. Yeah, that was enough.
He'd flown over, was met by Glenn at Don Muang International and taken to the Oriental. Once there, Glenn told him why he was needed back in Southeast Asia.
Glenn had been making his last flight--ever--out of China. He was flying a C-47 "Gooney Bird" from Kunming to Vientiane and then on to Bangkok for a Chinese Nationalist officer named Yen Ching Kung. He hadn't liked Yen nor did he trust him but he'd decided to make the run. Unfortunately, the C-47 never made Vientiane. It had crashed into a gorge in Laos, killing the two Nationalist foot soldiers Yen had brought along and leaving Yen himself looking to Glenn like he would also be dead soon so Glenn had loaded up supplies and bailed out of the C-47.
He'd gotten out of the gorge where he was met by a wandering H'mong on an elephant who helped Glenn get to his nearby village and across the Mekong to Siam. Glenn had left Siam and returned safely to the US.
End of story, right?
Wrong.
All these decades later, Yen Ching Kung's family had gotten in touch with Glenn, told him they needed his help and all-but-forced him to come to Bangkok. It turned out they were his younger brothers and the oldest, Chu Wang, was a 489. This means big boss and his group was called Snow Leopard Society. This means tong or gang. It was an organization from Hong Kong, thus a Triad. Thus their power to threaten Glenn and all his family if he didn't help them out in Asia.
Thus Glenn had been forced to fly over to Thailand, courtesy of Chu Wang.
This was who had paid for Harwich's flight and opulent hotel suite as well.
Harwich had been confused until Glenn told him the Yen family had every reason to believe Yen Ching Kung was very much alive and being held prisoner at an opium warlord's camp in Laos.
After meeting Chu Wang and a Thai gangster who'd been a prisoner in the same camp as Yen, Harwich understood more of the situation, if not all of it: Yen had survived the crash and become the "property" of Gen. Xiang, a Lao man who ran one of the biggest opium empires in the Golden Triangle and probably the largest one in Laos itself.
The plane crash had put Yen in a long-term coma that hadn't ended until a rival warlord had attacked this camp and after letting the Thai gangster know who he was, he'd given him a necklace of Chinese characters and Glenn's dog-tags that had been left behind in the C-47.
It had taken Jai Sidum--the Thai gangster--a long, long time as a POW at the camp before he had the chance to escape but once he did, he was able to return to Thailand and make contact with the Yen family through the necklace and Jai Sidum's Chinese links in Bangkok.
That had been when Chu Wang had used the dog-tags to track Glenn down and force him into helping them rescue Yen and the treasure that'd been aboard the C-47.
This was why Glenn had asked Harwich for his help; his younger friend had spent a lot of time in Laos during the Vietnam War and if anyone could lead the raid to get Yen out, it was Harwich.
Since Harwich and his family were being threatened the way Glenn was, Harwich saw no choice but to go for it.
He'd gone to Patpong and looked for some old war buddies living in Bangkok at their favorite go-go bar, The Hot LZ. Dee Mahk, the bar's owner, was one of Harwich's friends who had also served in Indochina with Special Forces. He'd been pleased to see Harwich and reintroduce him to other friends in the bar that night: Harry Tranton, an ex-SF troop and Air American who was married to a Lao girl, spoke H'mong and had tons of contacts with the H'mong in both Thailand and Laos. He was one of the most important people Harwich had hoped to find and he was more than willing to help. So too was another man Harwich had known during the war, Rollie Meyers, an ex-USAF Jolly Green Giants man based in Khorat.
Rollie had helped Harwich by taking him to the infamous Thermae Coffee Shop and getting him together with his partner, Richard Shaugnessy, AKA Rickshaw. Rickshaw, a fellow Cape Codder like Harwich and Glenn, had been reunited with Harwich in Laos as a pilot with Air America and they'd become good adult friends in Indochina after growing up together as boys on the Cape.
It was Rickshaw's old DC-3, Target Ship II, that would play a huge part in getting Harwich, Glenn, Yen and whatever the treasure was out of Gen. Xiang's camp--and it did.
Using Chu Wang's power and Harry's connections with H'mong resistance, Harwich and Glenn had legally gone into Vientiane on Lao Aviation and were picked up by H'mong resistance troops that snuck them from the capital to Gen. Xiang's camp. After a fierce attack, they'd gotten in, rescued Yen Ching Kung, found the treasure and escaped from Laos to return to Thailand on Target Ship II.
The treasure had turned out to be a tablet made entirely of gold; it was a poem the great Chinese poet Li Po had written for a good friend of his in 8th Century China, Minghuang--the emperor.
Snow Leopard Society was thrilled to have Yen Ching Kung and the poem back and they paid well for it: one million dollars US for Harwich and for Glenn.
Glenn had returned to the States but Harwich had decided to stay here in Thailand and try his hand at becoming an expat. With a million US, a fantastic exchange rate and no concerns in America, Harwich found it something worth trying. Now that he was back in Thailand and no one was trying to kill him, he was enjoying himself again. The appeals the kingdom had held for him during his Special Forces days were still there.
Harwich got into the incredible food, he visited many wats during the day and went to the bars at night where he had sanuk galore with Mekhong whiskey and the bargirls.
When the op into Laos on behalf of the Yen family had ended, Harwich couldn't make up his mind at first what part of Thailand he wanted to make his home but after a week, Bangkok lost to Chiang Mai.
Oh, he'd had fun on Sukhumvit Rd, staying at the Sukhumvit Royal short-time hotel, visiting Soi Cowboy, Nana Plaza, the Thermae, the massage parlors and of course The Hot LZ where he shot the shit with Dee plus other expats like Harry. He also made several visits to Wat Arun, the Temple of Dawn, on the banks of the Chao Phraya River in Thonburi, his favorite wat in Thailand. Just for laughs one day, he'd taken a tuk-tuk to Khao San Rd and spent a few hours watching the backpackers bouncing all over the place. He saw plenty of Lonely Planets, lots of longhair, sandals, hundreds of pounds of metal body piercing jobs, much more than enough sidwalk coffee shop conversations starting with: "Oh, whoa man, here I was, like in Kathmandu, right, and what do I see but--!" Overall, the mentality of it was too different from his unique outlook on life so he'd climbed into the next available tuk-tuk and gotten the hell out of Khao San Rd, lao-lao.
That was Bangkok.
Other choices?
Well, there was Pattaya where Dee told him some of their old pals from SF and a couple of Air Americans were hanging out running bars and doing a little business but from what Harwich had been hearing about the joint, it wasn't for him. Not at that point. Maybe later.
Phuket, Koh Samui and the coasts of southern Thailand looked good but the more Harwich contemplated it over a bottle of Singha in Playskool Bar in Nana, the more he knew he had to get back upcountry to the mountains and the lifestyle of northern Thailand. He wanted to get back upcountry to Chiang Mai and give some thought to using that city as his base in Thailand.
The next day, he caught an exciting motorcycle taxi ride from Sukhumvit Road to Don Muang International, got off at Domestic and got himself a seat on the next available flight to Chiang Mai.
After a few days at Best Northern Delights, the guesthouse he and Glenn had stayed in before and after their trip into Laos, Harwich found a combination hotel and apartment complex on Soi 2 off Thapae Road, one of the city's major roads going into the square of which old Chiang Mai had been based on.
Viraporn Court was not as touristy as Best Northern Delights but it wasn't anywhere near as expensive per month, either. (Not that this factor was a worry for Harwich these days). On one side of the soi was the nine-story hotel building but what appealed to Harwich was the other side where the four-story apartment building that housed either long-term visitors, expats or Thai was.
The apartments were not large ones but each one had a big bed (good for the bargirl company he often brought home), a closet, a bureau and he decided to buy a small Hitchi at Makro, the big department store on the Super Highway. The bathroom had a clean sink, an American Standard toilet that did look like a standard American toilet (as opposed to the Asian squatter; a method he'd learned to do but never liked) and a shower with nice hot water every time. At 2,700 baht per month, plus joke bills like water and electricty, it worked out fine for Harwich.
He suspected he'd go upscale or even buy a house but for now, not entirely certain if he wanted to live in Chiang Mai a long time or move on, his apartment at Viraporn Court did all he required at that time.
Now Harwich had been here a couple of weeks and was feeling right at home in his apartment. He figured he'd do at least one month's time here before deciding to move or stay.
He put the postcard back down on his bureau and got his padlock for the apartment. He might not be leaving Viraporn soon but that old traveling urge was hitting him and he thought it might be time to hit another part of the north. He'd been up to Mae Sai, the border town where a small flow of water seperated Thailand from Burma. After catching the bus up to Chiang Rai and into the busy little town of Mae Sai, Harwich had gotten himself a cozy little room at a guesthouse overlooking the water, Jake Krait's. Jake Krait (not his name at all) was a scary-looking but friendly Mongolian-Spaniard married to an Ahka wife and they ran a pleasant guesthouse. He was nicknamed Krait because he kept snakes as pets, collected their skins and once in a while ate them.
Rickshaw had reccomended him and Harwich appreciated this. After a quiet night in Mae Sai, he crossed the bridge the next morning, paid the Burmese Immigration five dollars Us, wandered around the Burmese town of Tachilek and came back into Thailand where Immigration stamped him in for one more month in the kingdom.
So where to now? he wondered as he locked up his room with the padlock, pocketed his key ring and went down the stairs to the parking lot that was connected to the soi. He waved several "hello"-s and "good morning"-s to expats and Thai coming in and out of Viraporn.
He walked down the soi, stopping to pet a friendly cat he'd gotten to know who lived at a fruit-and-vegaetable store on the corner of the soi and Thapae Road.
Harwich left the feline behind and went towards Thapae Gate where he turned right onto Chaiyapum Road. Not two feet away was a travel agency that Rollie recommended, Wanderers' World. He went in, talked to the sociable agents who were sabai jai to meet a farang who could speak Thai so well and got himself talked into a flight to Mae Hong Son on the next Thai Airways flight headed there in the afternoon.
He paid Wanderers' World for the tickets in baht and thanked the agents as he left. They wished him choke dee, good luck, on his voyage.
Harwich went to Viraporn Court, packed a backpack, reminded himself to send a postcard to Glenn from Mae Hong Son and a full-length letter when he got back into the city.
Outside on Thapae Road, he waved a tuk-tuk down and after some negotiating, got a decent-priced ride out to the airport. He had a quick meal in the slightly-overpriced restaurant upstairs before boarding the plane that would take him to Mae Hong Son, once called the "Siberia of Thailand".
Harwich had no idea whatsoever that he was on his way to his next big adventure in Asia.
Instead, he sat back and enjoyed the quick, thirty-five minute ride from Chiang Mai to Mae Hong Son. The flight was calm, the pretty Thai stewardess aboard gave him a cheerful grin that was as refreshing as his glass of Coke and the view of the mountains made the price of the ticket well-worth it to him.
Minutes from the stewardess coming back to get his cup, Harwich finished his Coke, a grin on his handsome face. Mae Hong Son. He had to shake his head.
He hadn't spent much time there during or after the war but he'd gotten to know the town well-enough that he recognized it when he went to a theater near his house in 1990 to watch Air America. This was a comedy flick about people like Rickshaw and Harry starring Mel Gibson and Robert Downey Jr. It gave Harwich a few good chuckles but he could understand, from first-hand experience, why AA vets had hated it so much--the unrealistic portrayal of the Lao weather (Buddha, if only it had been that clear in the hills!), Mae Hong Son not much looking like Long Tieng and the pilots being treated like crazy, drunken fools who got off on the hellish situation in Laos during the "secret war". True, guys like Rickshaw did have a twisted sense of humor, drank heavily when they weren't flying and spent a lot of time in places like the White Rose with the Lao bargirls but the movie failed to show the countless flights into crappy landing sites, the clouds, the rain, the crashes, the H'mong forced to escape as the Pathet Lao closed in and America bailed out in '75.
Harwich shook his head again. Not the best movie in the world but it didn't take away from the beauty of Mae Hong Son herself. He handed his empty glass to the stewardess, thanked her and watched out his window as the plane descended through the tall, pointed hills that circled the town.
It was a sunny afternoon and they hit almost no turbulence on landing. The plane rolled down the runway towards the terminal. The crew thanked them for flying with Thai Airways and Harwich joined the backpackers and Thai exiting, returning the wai the stewardess gave him as he stepped off the aircraft.
The usual touts and tuk-tuk drivers were waiting for the passengers when they came out the other side of the terminal but Harwich knew better. Both Rickshaw and Rollie had warned him it was a rip-off to take a tuk-tuk or a sorngthaew from the airport to a guesthouse. Why? Because these drivers wanted 50 baht--or more--to take you for approximately a two-three minute ride to Jong Kham Lake which was the center of Mae Hong Son.
Harwich politely turned them down and instead had a nice stroll down roads the size of a Bangkok soi to Jong Kham Guest House, a cheap, comfortable joint his buddies had told him was a decent place to hang your hat and get some sleep for a couple of days.
He ended up paying 50 baht for a teak-floor room with a pillow, a mattress, blanket and a small wall fan. Beneath the 2nd floor which contained his and about five other rooms plus a spacious deck where visitors liked to hang out, there was a horngnam area that held three toilets and five shower stalls.
It was fine with Harwich, especially after the conditions he'd gone through in Laos!
After he'd taken a shower and changed clothes, Harwich decided to have some dinner. Wandering around town, he found Fern Restaurant on Khunlum Praphat Road. It looked open and inviting to him so he'd gone in and had some tom kha kai, a coconut soup with chicken and just enough spices in it to get his attention without blowing his stomach up. Some rice went with it and these food items were washed down with a cold bottle of Singha. The meal was a tasy one and when it was finished, he walked back towards Jong Kham Lake where he found an open-air bar doing business with a live band covering farang and Thai rock'n'roll. There was a good crowd of backpackers and locals here. For a reasonable night of not heavy drinking, it seemed like a place Harwich should get a seat in, have more Singha and enjoy the music; thus he went in.
The next morning, without a bargirl sleeping partner or a hangover, Harwich got up around eight, had some breakfast at the guesthouse and went off to see a motorbike rental place he'd spotted the day before. Don't get caught with egg on your face. Play Chicktionary!
(To be continued in Chapter 1 - part 2)
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Copyright 2005. All rights reserved by the author.
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Harwich, Massachusetts, resident Sean Bunzick has spent a good number of his adult years living in Southeast Asia and has turned his love for the region into a successful series of thrillers. The first two were "Missing in Asia " and "Air Thermae." Sean Bunzick is an American who divides his time between Cape Cod and Chiang Mai. Sean has two novels available online and in some Thailand bookshops (like Bookazine). Next time you are browsing for books set in this region, have a look for 'Missing in Asia', 'Air Thermae' and 'Dangerous Junk for Sail'. Also keep an eye out for Sean's upcoming new novel 'Zero Trust in Zamboanga'.
If you liked this first chapter of Sean's 'Air Thermae' it can be purchased here at Amazon.com: http://astore.amazon.com/thailandstori-20/detail/1420862499/102-4812334-5132943
And also from Asia Books online: http://www.asiabooks.com/browse/bookinfo.aspx?ProID=9781420862492
Here's a link to Thai Oasis where they have a great review of Sean and his books: http://www.thaioasis.com/literature/bkkbangkokfiction_bunzick.php
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